


on friends who resent you

by Anonymous



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Angst, Crossdressing, Daddy Issues, Gen, M/M, No Sex, Underage Prostitution, Unrequited Crush
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-17
Updated: 2020-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:40:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23178610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: It's always a last resort, 'cause Dad Egbert is the only guy who can really look him in the eye these days and he'd prefer to keep it that way- but it's not like he has many other resorts to turn to.
Relationships: Dad Egbert & Dave Strider, Dad Egbert/Dave Strider
Comments: 6
Kudos: 29
Collections: Anonymous





	on friends who resent you

**Author's Note:**

  * For [patos](https://archiveofourown.org/users/patos/gifts).



> so it's pretty dark, but.

Dave almost dials the wrong number because his stupid acrylic-clawed fingers are shaking too hard to punch in the right digits. Tap tap tap. _What about ASMR? Must be money in that._

He knows it off by heart, because this isn't the first time he's called John's dad to get him out of whatever bullshit scenario he's thrown himself into this time. It's always a last resort, 'cause Dad Egbert is the only guy who can really look him in the eye these days and he'd prefer to keep it that way- but it's not like he has many other resorts to turn to. This isn't fucking Bora Bora, it's- actually, he has no clue where he is. It's too dark, because his john dragged him into a back alley where the streetlights couldn't spotlight his shame. 

Dave presses the back of his hand to his mouth to stop himself from laughing like, dolphin-style, over the difference between _john_ and _John._

"Egbert residence, what can I do you for?"

Sheer, ugly, piss-yourself fear bolts down Dave's spine when he goes to answer and realizes he can't speak. He tries to grit the greeting out but it's stuck deeper in his throat than that guy's cock. _Calm down, man,_ says a voice at the back of his mind which kind of sounds like Bro. Normally that would be a weird kind of comfort but right now it just reminds him of how and why he ended up with knees coated in street-grime tonight. _Calm down, your throat is sore and it made your voice a little rough. Are you gonna pitch a fit when your balls finally drop? Huh?_

Maybe gagging on dick really does give you brain damage, because the first thing croaked out of Dave's mouth is a pathetic "Dad."

The line is silent for a second. He wants to apologize, cringing hard, but John's dad doesn't take long to process that it isn't his son on the other end. "David?" he queries gently. 

Dave swallows. No one else calls him that. He wants to wrap himself up in the hazy comfort of his best friend's father, like always. But he has to work to get himself out of here. He thinks someone put something in his drink, 'cause he feels dizzy and weird.

"Please can you come get me," he whispers, crossing his fingers, his toes, his eyes, his legs. _Don't leave me here. C'mon._

"Of course, son."

Halle-fucking-lujah. Dave pops a confused and yearning boner at the pet name and the warmth directed at him, but what's new.

"Just tell me where you are."

"I don't know," he mutters. "I don't-" He casts around, looking for some kind of landmark. He doesn't trust himself to walk.

"It's all right," John's dad soothes him. Why is he always so good at this? Why doesn't he ever say, _what in the absolute fuck are you doing, Dave? "_ Can you describe your surroundings for me?"

Uh... dark?

Dave drags himself out of the alley, awkward on heels. There are lights, but everything is kind of blurry. "I don't know," he sighs again, an edge of hysteria creeping into his tone. He feels this agonizing wave of self hatred sweep him under for a second and he's babbling. "Shit. I'm so sorry about this. Again. You always... I can- I can walk home."

"Absolutely not," John's dad says firmly.

_Huh, he's such a reassuring fatherly presence._

_I_ really _would._ _Does he know that I would?_

And it always goes back to the dubious morality of wanting your best friend's dad. Or wanting him to be _your_ dad. Not knowing what the hell you want, except that pride or concern in his eyes when he looks at _John_ to be directed at _you._

_John would fucking hate me._

Dave stumbles and his knees hit the ground, not for the first time tonight. 

"I can smell curry," he marvels. "I think..."

"Okay," John's dad breathes out in steady relief. "Think I know where you are. Stay put, we'll be right there."

Dave's brain is mercifully lucid enough to kick him into yelling, _"NO!"_

There's no reply, only patience.

"You can't bring John," Dave whispers. "He can't see me like this."

"All right, David, I'll leave John at home. Stay where you are. Ten minutes tops."

*

It was 365 days before Mr. Egbert's car pulled up.

Okay, it might not have been a whole _year,_ but it fucking felt like it. It was actually nine minutes and thirty who is he kidding he can't even _read_ the numbers on his phone clock right now.

Car pulls up but it takes time before John's dad comes to him. He's probably hard to recognize with the...

He feels a hand brushing his bangs off his forehead as he retches onto the pavement. Awesome. Maybe his whole future's written in that spermy mess of vodka and coke. He should take up emetomancy. Pay wouldn't be as good, but at least he could walk without a limp. 

Dave gets thrown around a bit but he doesn't much get carried, like a bride on her wedding night just before the ride of her life. S'nice. Safe. He doesn't know what he's saying; just that he's saying it. It's probably something gay and worrying. Are traps gay? Life's philosophical questions are difficult to answer with a couple milligrams of Rohypnol in his system. 

"Gonna get you home, David, okay?" 

"I don't wanna go home," he shakes his head, even though home is the only place it's acceptable to show up like this.

"Home with me," John's dad clarifies. "You can't be doing this any more. You'll end up killed."

Dave exhales, slumping against the car door. He just wants to hit the hay, scrub the red off his lips and put on a football jersey. That never fails to restore his fragile grasp on masculinity.

"Wish you were my dad," he mumbles, face squished against the glass, leaving blusher powdering it.

It's kind of fucked up that Mr. Egbert has the sheen of tears in his eyes. Dave doesn't ever cry about it, because it's usually fine. For real. It sucks that people are always gonna take advantage, but a quick fuck out back is really no trouble. It was Bro's idea to ramp it up a notch. 'You got girly eyelashes. Stop hiding 'em and market 'em.' When he expanded his wardrobe and started binge-watching YouTube makeup tutorials, the money doubled and they were in the clear. Sometimes Dave got his dick sucked- score- and it wasn't gonna be forever.

"Hey, don't cry," Dave says. 

John's dad makes a noise of disbelief, eyes fixed on the road, maybe more for Dave's benefit. He doesn't think he could get any more embarrassed, but it's nice of Mr. Egbert not to stare at his thigh-high socks, the sliver of skin that his schoolgirl skirt doesn't cover. (That's the point. 'Show off your assets'.) The old guy takes his hand off the steering wheel and offers it out to Dave, who takes it no sweat. 

"That's my handjob hand," Dave warns him solemnly. 

For some reason, that just makes John's dad grip it tighter.


End file.
